


If You Love Me, Come Clean

by likeswimmingg



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Art, F/F, F/M, The 100 Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeswimmingg/pseuds/likeswimmingg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clexa Art School AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Love Me, Come Clean

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first multi chapter fic I've written in a while. If you have any suggestions/constructive criticisms, feel free to let me know!

You take the black and white photos off of the hanging clips in your university’s dark room during your break period. You’re not entirely thrilled with the way they came out, being the overachiever your father raised you to be, but there’s a few shots that you’re content with for your Photography & Imaging Analog course. 

A young child laughing as he pushes his mother on the swingset and an aging dog with a toy hanging animatedly from his mouth are among your favorites of them. Normally your photos are more intense than these, capturing moments of wonder or sadness, but the assignment was to capture moments of exultancy, and that’s not something you’re well versed in by any means.

You place the photographs carefully into your portfolio and grab your messenger bag with your free hand. You hear the door to the dark room open and a flash of blonde enters your periphery. You turn around quickly, startled by the disturbance and spill the contents of the folder and you bag onto the floor.

“Shit,” you say frustratingly and drop to the ground, trying to collect the various items scattered around you. A few of the photographs fall by the stranger’s feet and she bends down, analyzing the details as she picks them up.

“Wow,” she breathes out, and your eyes lock with hers. 

You’ve never seen eyes quite as expressive as hers before. The stranger’s features are breathtaking, but you try not to stare at her for too long before you rip the photos out of her hands. The movement is a bit more aggressive than you intended, and you shock yourself with your own strength.

“Sorry.” The girl looks a bit miffed, but you don’t bother to apologize. You weren’t brought up that way and you aren’t going to start offering pleasantries to people now.

You stuff the last of the prints back into your portfolio and drop them into your bag as the blonde travels to the back of the room, far out of your way. You throw your messenger bag strap over your shoulder and exit the room without looking back at the attractive stranger who has now seen your work; your vulnerabilities that were developed and made into a physical entity. 

No one, aside from you and your professors has seen your photography. You were hoping you could've kept it that way a little longer.

//

That doesn’t seem to last very long.

“Lexa,” your Professor calls back to you after she dismisses class, “I’d like to speak with you for a moment, if you have one.”

You toss the strap of your bag carefully over your shoulder and walk down to meet the older woman. You can feel the crinkle in your forehead and sweat forming on your balled fists. You’re not sure what the Professor could want to discuss and you’re nervous, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“I wanted to talk to you about your latest project,” she says, emotionlessly. You’re not sure where she’s going with this, but from experience and the tone of her voice, whatever she has to say is not positive. You nod anyway. 

“You received top marks. Yours was the only A I gave out. You’re the only consistent A student in my class.” She removes the hand that was resting on her desk and takes a step closer to you. “You're one of the most unique talents I’ve seen walk through those doors, Lexa. I wish you wouldn’t waste yours.”

“What do you mean?” Frankly, you’re perplexed. 

“I want you to submit your work to the Spring Showcase in May.” Oh.

“Professor--” She throws you a look. “Indra,” you correct yourself, “I haven't been handing in my best efforts this semester. I’ve found myself at quite the standstill.” You feel guilty for lying, but you can’t bring yourself to display your work to a plethora of people you don’t know. 

“Well if this isn't your best work, I'm curious to see what is,” Indra teases, handing over a manila envelope with a red “A” on the front of it.

Indra pulls a flyer from her desk and toys with it in her hands.

“These are the details of the showcase. There are a few qualifications you need to fulfill in order to get your work displayed, but I have faith that you'll be a shoo in, Woods.” She extends the paper to you. “If you change your mind.”

After a moment’s consideration, you take it.

//

“Hey,” a somewhat familiar voice shakes you from the section of your Art History book on Frida Kahlo. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, like they're trying to escape your skin. “I'm sorry about the other day.”

The student lounge is reasonably empty at this time of night, so you can't pretend like you didn't hear her from the couch across from you. Maybe if I don’t look at her, she’ll leave me alone, you think to yourself.

“Those pictures were,” she gets up and sits at the work table with you. “Exquisite. I've never seen black and white photography that vivid before.”

You close your textbook, too enamored by the gorgeous distraction. You're unsure of what to say; you're not exactly used to being met with this level kindness. At least you haven’t in the last year.

Keeping to yourself is all you’ve known for so long, and you're not sure what it is about this girl that makes you not want to do that anymore.

“I'm Clarke,” she smiles radiantly, extending a hand out to you.

“Lexa,” you counter, taking her hand in yours. You ignore the way heat rushes to your core when you do. You retract your fingers and place them on your knee, wiping the sweat that had formed there.

“So you do speak.”

You blush and she laughs at the redness spreading to your cheeks. After that, the conversation flows naturally.

“Photography major with a minor in painting. I’m surprised I haven't seen you around before,” Clarke says with a flirty undertone.

“Are you an artist, Clarke?”

“We did meet in a dark room, Lexa. I'm sure you could've gathered that,” she teases as she opens her own textbook and pulls out a highlighter. “Studio and Digital Art double major.”

“That’s...impressive,” you admit. “Then what were you doing in a dark room?”

“I'm taking a photography elective this semester. I think I may be in your lecture hall actually.” Clarke pulls out a notebook and starts doodling. You try to take a look--you are an art snob after all--but the other girl pulls the notebook out of your vision line before you could do so. “Are you entering the Spring Showcase?”

“I was thinking about it, but I've ultimately decided against it,” you say. You don't need another failure to add to the list, you’ve reasoned to yourself.

“And here I thought I was fraternizing with the enemy. How anticlimactic,” the blonde says, a playful challenge to her tone. She takes your phone that’s next to your studies and puts her number in it. “In case you need a subject for your submission.”

“If you’re entering, wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest, Clarke?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” she says with a wink. 

You were never one to shy away from a challenge. You submit your application for the showcase later that night.

//

You start running into Clarke Griffin on campus more.

You don’t have many friends, except maybe Lincoln, who you haven’t seen in quite some time, and Harper who you study with sometimes for your Astronomy requirement. 

Most of the time Clarke sketches in her drawing pad while you study in the student lounge and has accompanied you to the abandoned building on the other side of campus on several occasions. 

Clarke has become the subject of a lot of your photographs lately and you start to wonder if black and white compliments your work anymore.

You start to add Clarke into your routines like feeding the birds at the park every Monday or binge watching Netflix in your sweatpants on nights that you finish your homework early. 

You now find yourself wondering what the blonde is doing throughout her day when you aren’t with her. You even have her schedule memorized and she knows yours since it turns out, you do have the same lecture hall.

When she started creeping her way into your life in such a manner, you don’t know. But you’ve come to find that you don’t exactly mind sharing your days with another human.

//

The one time Clarke doesn’t come with you to the abandoned part of campus your photographs come out unsatisfactory. You decide not to go without her again.

//

You’re well into experimenting with color once spring rolls around and Indra is even more impressed with your work than she was at the beginning of the semester. You don't put too much stock in it, but you're glad she's taken a liking to your accomplishments.

You’re sorting through photos from one of your shoots on your Macbook while Clarke lays on your bed, studying for her midterms. You often find yourselves in your dorm room since Echo transferred schools earlier in the year.

“If I read one more sentence of this anatomy textbook I think I might die,” Clarke exasperates, rolling over onto her stomach. 

“Then why did you take the class, Clarke?”

“My mother made me take some medical courses in case I ‘change my mind about the arts,’” the blonde groans. She bookmarks a page with her highlighter and lays face up on the twin bed. “I change my mind about whether I want pizza or Chinese for dinner all the time, but not about art.”

You know this. You’ve had arguments over Joe’s Pizza or Han Dynasty on several occasions. You’ve also seen pieces of Clarke’s work around her dorm room once or twice. From what you know about Clarke, you don’t think she’d give up that kind of passion for anything. 

“At this rate, you’ll never graduate,” you throw at her with a smirk that the other girl cannot see. Clarke throws a pillow at the back of your head and you feign shock. You throw it back and she clutches it to her chest.

“Hey Lexa, what are your parents like? You never talk about them,” she says carefully, looking at you from your bed. “Or anyone in your life really. We always talk about my mom and Kane--and sometimes Finn even.”

You’re not sure you want to go down this road with her, nor are you ready for her opinion of you to shift; which you’re not entirely sure of to begin with. You’ve trusted Clarke enough to let her into your life. But you haven’t let anyone this close in a long time.

“There’s not much to tell,” you settle on, still staring at the screen of your laptop. You want to open up to Clarke, you do. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you have no idea why she’s still around. 

Why she actually enjoys your company when most people want to run from it. How she crept her way into your headspace without permission. You move and sit a comfortable distance away from her on your bed.

“Lexa,” she says, sitting up and looking into your soul, it feels like. “I know you don’t have a lot of people in your life, but you can trust me.” Clarke slides her fingers into yours and rubs her thumb over your knuckles without breaking her gaze from yours. “You can trust me.”

You turn your body to Clarke’s and she's completely attentive to you. Her eyes are soft and expressive, more than they usually are, and they’re looking for something in yours. The air is thick and your nerves are getting the best of you.

“I do trust you, Clarke,” you whisper, reveling in her touch. The blonde squeezes your hand a bit tighter.

“I know how hard that is for you,” she says raspily, leaning in closer to you.

“You think my ways are harsh, but it's how I survive.” 

“Maybe life should be about more than just surviving,” she breathes out softly. You’re practically on top of each other at this point. You weren't positive before, but you're sure now. “Don't we deserve better than that?”

There’s an invisible rope around your chest and Clarke is on the other end of it, reeling you into her. 

“Maybe we do.”

Your stomach is in knots and a voice in your head is screaming at you. 

_This is a terrible idea!  
Do not kiss her, Woods! Step away from the girl!_

But you ignore all of them and lean forward, your fingers resting in Clarke’s blonde locks.

Your lips are mere centimeters from hers and her hand moves to the back of your neck when your phone rings in your cardigan pocket.

You pull away from her so quickly, she’s gotten whiplash.

“Expecting a call?” Clarke looks a bit crushed, but you’re kind of thankful for the distraction. Kissing Clarke would not have ended well. 

Your head is so fuzzy from what almost just happened that you’re not even concerned with who could even be calling you at 1am on a Wednesday.

“No, I wasn’t.” The ringing persists and Clarke aggravatingly reaches into your pocket to answer for you.

“Lexa’s phone,” Clarke answers and it’s adorable. You can’t help the grin that fills up your cheeks. “Hold on a second,” she says into your phone and hands it to you.

“Who is it?”

“Costia.” Your immediate panic doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girl and you feel guilty. You do, but you aren’t ready to address your feelings for Clarke just yet. You don’t know what you want and you can’t promise that you won’t hurt her in the process. 

You’re running, but hopefully you’ll be able to make it up to the blonde soon. 

You take a moment to compose yourself and pull the phone up to your ear.

“Costia,” you say confidently while Clarke begins looking at some of the books on your bookshelf. “It’s been a while...right now? Does it have to...okay, okay. See you in a little while.” 

You hang up and Clarke is unreadable. She has one of your books in her hands.

“Lilith’s Brood is incredible. It’s about a girl who awakens on an alien ship only to discover that Earth has been ravaged by nuclear war,” you say, trying to cut the tension a bit. “Feel free to borrow it if you’d like.”

“I will,” she says, expressionlessly and throws the book on top of her bag. “I’m guessing you have to go?”

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” You really are, but the other girl doesn’t look like she believes that you are. Clarke isn’t stupid, you know that.

“It’s okay,” Clarke interjects. “I need to finish studying anyway.” Clarke collects her things and exits, but not before looking back at you and your head is spinning. “See you around, Lexa.”

“You will,” you nod politely.

Costia is waiting outside of the dorms for you. Costia, your ex. And then there’s Clarke. You almost kissed Clarke. And you’re positive that she almost kissed you back. 

//

Costia brings the two of you to a 24 hour diner across town, because according to Yelp, it was the only establishment open at this time of night. You’re not sure what she would drive all the way from UPenn for, but she seems to think that it cannot wait.

The waitress brings the two of you water and passes out menus. You’re not hungry, so you keep the menu in front of you, waiting for Costia to speak. She is reticent, her slender nose buried between the laminated pages. 

“So, what was so urgent that could not wait until tomorrow?” Costia stays silent, turning page after page. She was always so indecisive. “You know you’re just going to order a bacon cheeseburger anyway, so why bother searching for something else?”

Costia lays her menu down on the table. She looks radiant as usual, now that you’ve taken a good look at her. 

“Lex--I know you hate me for leaving, but--”

“I don’t hate you,” you sigh. You take a sip of water and stir the ice with your straw.

“Well that’s a relief,” Costia breathes out, sitting back into the booth. “I dropped out of UPenn. I came back to the city because I--I miss you. I miss my home. I shouldn’t have left, and we--we had something good and I had to go fuck it up, didn’t I?”

You take a moment to think her words over. If you’re being honest with yourself, you did hate Costia for a little while. But you realized after a few weeks had gone by that it takes more effort to hate someone than distance yourself from the emotion altogether. 

You’re not one to dwell on your feelings, because for you? Love is weakness, and so are the sacrifices that come with it. But you called Costia yours for two years of your college life. Before things changed so drastically. Before Clarke. 

“What can I get you ladies?” The overzealous waitress interrupts the conversation and you’re relieved. It gives you a moment to get a grip on yourself and the thoughts swimming in your head. Costia orders and you decide on a coffee, black--“Like your soul,” Clarke always says--and the waitress walks away chipperly. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cos.”

“I just needed to see you. So you could see how sorry I am.” Costia puts her hand in yours, but there’s no heat in your stomach. No sharp intake of breath upon contact. But you two do have history, you cannot deny that. You still care about her, and that probably won’t change anytime soon.

“Are you back in Midtown?” Your hands are still entwined, and the waitress brings your coffee over, smiling at the two of you before entering the kitchen again.

“Yes, Lincoln was nice enough to let me move back in with he and Octavia. Their new roommate wasn’t exactly as clean as I am,” she cringes. Costia was always incredibly tidy. 

The two of you talk and catch up for the next hour and it’s easy again, like old times. But your mind keeps going back to Clarke. 

The look on her face when she left your dorm. How you owe her an explanation, but you’re not ready to begin whatever it is that’s going on between the two of you. 

But there’s something special about Clarke Griffin, that much you know. And you want to be sure of yourself before you fuck it up even more than you probably have.

//

Costia drives you back to campus with you at 4am after a few shots at Stonewall, and you struggle to fit your key into the lock of your dorm room. You’re laughing profusely, and you haven’t been this drunk in a long time.

“Fuck, Cos, you’ve gotta help me,” you say. You hardly swear so you know you’re much far gone than you originally anticipated. Costia giggles and takes the keys from you, her other arm resting limply on your shoulder.

“Okay, shit okay, I’ve got this.” 

Eventually, you stumble into the room, the both of you hysterically laughing. You fall onto your bed and the cheap springs hurt your back a little. Before you can register what’s happening, Costia cups your right cheek and her face is inches from yours. You get a whiff of her perfume, it smells like the past, like simpler times.

The alcohol running through your veins takes over and you crash your lips into hers.


End file.
